No One Left Behind
by Laura Schiller
Summary: AU for 4x04, "The Break-Up". Kitty Wilde's "Left Behind Club" gives Christians a bad name and Joe won't stand for it, especially when an innocent girl is hurt in the process. Implied Joe/Dottie.


No One Left Behind

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Glee

Copyright: Ryan Murphy

Joe did not immediately understand what Kitty meant to do by sending a girl away to help a stranger, yelling at everyone to hide and leaving empty clothes on the seats; by the time he did, it was too late. He could not see anything from the dark corner he had squeezed into, but Dottie Kazatori was impossible to overhear. Her high, thin wail chilled his bones like fingernails on a blackboard; outside of television, he had never even heard a sound like that from another human being.

"We've been left behind_,_" she sobbed. _"We've been - left – behind!_"

Torn between natural shyness, the fear of a clash with Kitty and the overpowering urge to comfort the terrified girl, Joe hesitated a second too long, and Kitty got there first. Bouncing up from behind a chair like an avenging angel in her boyfriend's leather jacket, she pointed her finger at Dottie and proclaimed, in ringing tones: "That's what it feels like to be left behind, Dottie Kazatori!"

Dottie doubled over, hands on her knees, gasping, wheezing. Their fellow club members milled around her like spectators at a zoo, watching with morbid curiosity as her round face flushed from lack of air. No one was even trying to help her. Something in Joe snapped.

"This has gone far enough, Kitty," he said. "If I'd known you were going to do this, I never would've come. Here, sit down," he added in an undertone to Dottie, putting an arm around her shoulders and guiding her into the nearest chair. She was so small that, bent over as she was, he had to crouch for this; he could feel her trembling, smell her strawberry shampoo. She shot him a glance of childlike bewilderment, her brown eyes wide behind their black-framed glasses, as she fumbled in her skirt pocket for an inhaler. Only when she began to breathe into it did her crimson cheeks fade to a healthier pink.

Asthma, then. All commandments of "love thy neighbor" to the contrary, Joe would have been proud of punching Kitty in the face.

"What's your problem, Tarantula Head?" the cheerleader sneered, standing above him with her hands on her miniskirted hips. Scattered giggles at the insult made him blush with embarrassment,. "Is it my fault that God made Dottie's lungs so weak to match her pathetic weakness of faith? You heard her, guys. _'On the fence'_, she said. Someone had to push her off that fence in one direction or the other, and if it's not God's direction, it'll be the Devil's. Do you want that?"

Dottie hid her face on Joe's shoulder, her glossy black hair brushing his cheek. Under other circumstances, he might have been shocked; he had never been so close to an unrelated girl in all his life. Now, though, his arm tightened around her almost instinctively, and he raised his head to look Kitty square in the eye.

"I thought this club was meant to glorify God, not you," he retorted. "You don't get to judge who is and isn't going to heaven."

Kity rolled her eyes and swung her ponytail in a derisive toss of her head, but the gestures were transparently fake. She was uncertain, and everyone could see it. From behind her, Santana sent Joe a wry smile of approval. Sam's face was unreadable. Marley, who was looking almost as angry as Joe felt, made a sudden movement as if to join him, then drew back with a nervous glance at Jake next to her. Jake, to his credit, looked deeply embarrassed on behalf of his zealot of a girlfriend.

"Oh, and I suppose _you_ think you're qualified?" Kitty hissed, living up to her nickname with feline ferocity. "You think not washing your hair for a couple of years and trying to get into a crippled teen mother's pants under the pretense of helping her makes you some fucking saint?"

Joe's insides lurched. How had she found out about Quinn – from the Cheerios? Had his attempts last year to help her after her accident, and even his feelings for her, been dragged around the entire school? She made it sound so sordid, so disgusting. He prayed for strength, his mind raced for a reply, but this time, he came up blank.

"Kitty, stop."

To everyone's surprise, it was Jake who had spoken, his rich baritone commanding attention just as Puck's used to do. "I don't know these people," he said, gesturing to Joe and Dottie, "But you are seriously out of line. I like badass chicks as well as the next guy, but there's a difference between being badass and a bitch."

Kitty's mouth dropped open like a fish's. She turned almost as red as Dottie had done earlier, visibly struggling for something nasty to say. Before she could collect herself again, Jake put his hand on the small of Marley's back and led her toward the exit. With a contemptuous snort, Santana followed, pulling a mildly confused Brittany along by the hand.

Joe let go of Dottie and got to his feet. Standing, his chin level with the top of Kitty's head, it was much easier not to feel intimidated. Dottie came to stand beside him, breathing steadily, which made him feel even stronger.

"I … I've had this … condition … my whole life," said Dottie, in a hoarse little whisper only the three of them could hear. "Whether I believed in God or … or not. He's … he's right," putting a tiny hand on Joe's arm and coughing some strength into her voice. "You don't get to judge. I don't think … I don't think anyone does, really. Except God."

"Amen, you guys," said Sam, startling Joe by coming up alongside him and Dottie, offering them each a fist to bump. She responded gratefully, smiling for the first time all evening, and so did Joe.

Relief washed over him; he'd begun to think that his old friend from last year's God Squad, now absorbed by Brittany and Blaine, had forgotten him completely. He was moved beyond words that this was not the case.

"Jesus will have to hustle to get here before the Mayan Apocalypse," said Sam, smirking at the dumbfounded look on Kitty's face. "But he does, all I know is that the Rapture would be worse than hell in the company of a _petaQ_ like you."

He tapped her on the nose and walked away, following his schoolmates out into the night, supremely unconcerned by the fact that none of them knew what a _petaQ_ was.

"Oh, yeah?" Kitty shrieked after the departing club members. "You – you just wait until you're all being barbecued in Hell! I won't even dip my finger in water for you! _Not one finger!_ Are you listening?"

Joe, along with everybody else, ignored her.

He closed his eyes as he left Breadstix, letting the early autumn wind cool his heated face. Cars streaked by along the road beyond the parking lot, their headlights blazing in the darkness; he could smell their fumes along with garlic and tomatoes from the restaurant. All around him, people were chattering excitedly as they headed for their cars, bicycles, motorbikes or – in Jake's case – a razor scooter. Marley was talking to him in a low voice, her earnest face lit up by the streetlamps. In the shadow of the restaurant awning, Santana and Brittany were deep in talk as well. Even among the turmoil of his own emotions – residual anger at Kitty, pride in himself, shame for feeling pride in someone else's humiliation no matter how much she deserved it – Joe was concerned for them. Especially Santana and Brittany; ever since the Spirit had moved him to serenade the lesbian couple last Valentine's Day, defying the teachings of his church, he had felt a sort of responsibility for their happiness. He resolved to pray for them as soon as he got home.

A _click_ called him out of his thoughts. It was Dottie's cell phone snapping shut. She cleared her throat and peered up at him, trying to make out his face in the shadows. Her glasses shone like two little moons.

"Um … excuse me," she said. "I just called my mom to pick me up, and I was wondering … do you have a ride home?"

He paused. Was she asking to take him to his home, or to hers? Either way, the question was so unexpected that he found himself blushing for about the dozenth time that night.

"I – I don't live that far," he blurted out. "I can walk."

Dottie's eyebrows rose above her glasses. "But no one lives _here_," she said. "It's all strip malls and gas stations. You'd have to walk … I don't know … for half an hour. At least!"

He shrugged. "I like walking."

Dottie shook her head.

"No one should be out alone at night," she told him earnestly, looking and sounding – despite the white bow on her headband, her pleated tartan skirt and Mary Jane shoes – surprisingly like his mother. "Not even you. I mean, even though you're so tall, and your hair is – I mean, you look like a gangster. In the best way. No offense. Even gangsters can be outnumbered, though … Oh God, shut me up now!" She covered her face in her hands, a schoolgirl once again.

Good heavens, she was adorable.

"That's the nicest thing anyone's said about my dreads since I came to McKinley," he said. "And I don't want to be outnumbered, either. Sure, I'll ride with you."

Dottie sighed happily. "Thank you. And also … thank you for what you did in there. No one's ever … ever stood up for me like that. Not even Miss Cohen-Chang."

_Especially not Miss Cohen-Chang, _was the unspoken implication. Joe frowned at the memory of the first time he had seen Dottie, being berated by Tina in the middle of the hallway for bringing her a non-organic banana. Since her breakup with Mike, that girl would try the patience of a saint, let alone a girl who was 'on the fence' about religion.

"She makes you call her 'Miss'?"

Dottie ducked her head. "No," she admitted. "That was my idea. I like to pretend, you know … that she's a real celebrity and I'm a real assistant. I don't mind her so much. It's the only way anyone will notice me, after all."

"_I_ noticed you," said Joe, amazed by his own boldness. He never talked to girls this way. He rarely talked, period. What was it about this girl that made him feel so confident? Was it the simple fact that she was even more socially inept than he was … or something else?

"Because I freaked out and made a fool of myself in front of a bunch of cheerleaders and seniors, you mean?" she asked bitterly.

"Because you were the first to question Kitty," he said. "You said you had doubts, and I respect that. If God wanted us to follow people blindly, He wouldn't have given us the ability to reason, don't you think?"

"Hmm … " Dottie sighed again. "I just wish I'd had that ability when I needed it. For a moment there, I honestly … " She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle, even though the night was still warm. "I had no idea," she continued softly, "That it would still be so strong. After all these years."

He did not ask her what she meant by that. Anyone who could be so thoroughly shaken by a petty high school prank had to have some things she didn't want to talk about.

"If it helps," he said instead, "The Book of Revelations is so full of cryptic images and symbols and stuff, there's about a million different ways to interpret it. No one really _knows_ how the end times will come, no matter what people like those _Left Behind_ writers have to say."

"But then," asked Dottie, "How am I supposed to know what to believe?"

He told her what his mother, during their homeschool sessions on a picnic blanket under the maple tree, had told him: "Believe what feels right for you … whatever makes you a better person, and helps you make the world a better place. That's all anyone can do."

Dottie's eyes took on a faraway look as she watched the cars rolling by. In the headlights of passing cars, he watched a slow smile illuminate her face.

"I'm sorry," she suddenly said, falling back into shyness. "I, um … I didn't catch your name."

"Joe Hart," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm in junior year. Good to meet you, Dottie."

"Joe," she repeated, her small cold hand disappearing into his large one. "I'm just … I'm so glad to have met you too. If people like you exist, maybe God cares about us after all."

Once again, Joe found himself utterly at a loss for words. The depth, the simplicity, the sheer undeservedness of her words took his breath away and left him dizzy, wondering if someone could have spiked his orange juice to make him hallucinate. Only when a black Volvo pulled into the parking lot and rolled to a stop in front of them, driven by a kind-faced lady whose gray bob was an exact match for Dottie's black one, did Joe remember to let go of Dottie's hand.

Silently, but most devotedly, he thanked his Lord for bringing this girl into his life.


End file.
